


lonely nights

by terrible_titles



Series: The After Life [3]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Bisexual Character, Canon-Typical Violence, F/F, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Post-Canon, Post-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-14
Updated: 2015-10-14
Packaged: 2018-04-26 08:00:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4996912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/terrible_titles/pseuds/terrible_titles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Buffy becomes the latest victim of Faith's past. </p><p>*This fic can be read either as a standalone one-shot or part of The After Life series.*</p>
            </blockquote>





	lonely nights

It all started when Buffy got some bills, sat down on the couch, and said, “I _really_ need a new job.”

And Faith felt like the only answer to that was running away.

Buffy didn’t want to run that far away, however, so they settled on an evening walk. Faith pushed a stake into Buffy’s hand before they left. “You need to start arming yourself,” she demanded. And Buffy took the stake without complaint.

Now that there were immortal vamps running around and a witch supplying them with their amulets who could also invade Buffy’s dreams, the lack of job thing seemed less than a concern in Faith’s perspective. But Buffy was Buffy, and she had seemed to like her job, to whatever degree she liked anything these days. Seemed to like having some money too. Hey, couldn’t blame her for that one.

They strolled down the street, taking in the sub-100 temperatures of autumn, and it was strangely pleasant considering neither of them really talked about this thing between them now. Around a corner lay a low stone wall that circled the elementary school playground—it was such a weirdly quaint thing to realize the world had kept spinning somehow. The show must go on. Faith wondered if this was how a normal couple might feel, going on walks like a pair of dumbasses, a peaceful lull of silence between them. She really wanted to take Buffy’s hand but fought the compulsion. Still, it was all very enjoyable for the five minutes it lasted.

“This is nice, but I really need a new job,” Buffy said.

Faith rolled her eyes. “Right, but you can’t do anything about that right now, can you? So let’s just—”

Buffy looked over at her and grinned. “Enjoy a romantic walk through the park?” she asked. “Oh, Faith, will you take me to the local graveyard to seduce me? You know just how to get a slayer going, don’t you?”

Faith grabbed Buffy’s hand and stepped her back into the low wall so quickly Buffy had to take a hard seat on it. She grabbed Buffy’s chin and kissed her hard enough to feel those neat white teeth.

“Wow,” Buffy breathed when they broke apart.

“Romantic enough for you, B?” Faith asked.

To her shock, Buffy giggled. “I don’t think you understand romance. But it was definitely something.”

It was the first time Faith had seen Buffy look truly happy, she realized. The wide smile, the unguarded laughter—it was all Faith could do not to try to hold onto this moment desperately in both hands, to never let it snap away. The surge in her chest was too strong to contain. She couldn’t quite tell what it was, but having Buffy look up at her, teasing wide eyes, was simultaneously too much and never enough.

She vaulted over the wall and took Buffy by the hand. “Come on!” she said.

There was nothing left to do for Buffy but follow Faith to the dark empty playground. When they got to the jungle gym, a rounded towering structure of bars, Faith whirled back, swooped Buffy up in her arms, and planted her on top, climbing up quickly after her.

“Hey!” Buffy protested, laughing as Faith situated herself beside her. “You didn’t think I could climb up without help?”

“No, I just didn’t think you _would_ ,” Faith replied. She put her arm around Buffy and used her other hand to gesture to the clear night sky full of stars. “You can’t tell me _this_ isn’t romantic.”

Buffy leaned over, one arm snaking around Faith’s middle, her chin propped on Faith’s shoulder. “You win,” she said. Then, “Hey.”

Faith turned when Buffy pressed her palm into Faith’s cheek, and this time the kiss was soft and pliant, an exhalation of their being, an inhalation of each other. Faith turned more fully, her grip growing more firm, but with Buffy’s lead she managed to back off her instinct to immediately devour everything Buffy was offering.

When Faith opened her eyes, she recognized the feeling. She ached with it; she always had, this unrequited love. And she wanted to kick herself for getting back here, always here, every time she saw this girl, except she knew she had never left this place.

 _I love you I love you I love you._ And all the while Buffy only gazed at her, curious, bemused.

Faith loved her with her whole being, so much that it felt like she was on fire with it, but she was just Buffy’s diversion.

And that was obvious, wasn’t it, in the way Buffy looked terrified for a split second when she had first seen Faith on her doorstep, as if she might have been someone that mattered, someone she’d have to explain herself to. Then it all had released into relief when she recognized Faith, and she let her in. They never even had to catch up; they had never left off anywhere.

“Well, Faith?” Buffy asked, voice low. “Did you like my version of romance?”

Faith could nearly feel something in her chest shatter, but before she could say anything, a voice on the ground answered, “I don’t know about her, but I enjoyed the show.”

Buffy jerked away—but no, it wasn’t that, she was being _pulled down_ by a massive hunk of undead flesh. Faith whirled and spotted a petite woman several yards away, vaguely familiar. She couldn’t leave Buffy alone with that ogre, though, so she dipped down and spun on her heel, kicking out square in the vamp’s back. All bets were on him being immortal, but a blow like that wasn’t easy for anyone to take.

Buffy shot back up, one leg immediately back, fists up in a perfect fighting stance. The vamp roared and reared up, posing to turn onto Faith, but the woman in the corner called out, “Priorities, Jim!”

Buffy’s look told her all she needed to know—that was Nan, the witch who had Buffy’s number. Great, Buffy was the sole focus of this attack and this didn’t even have the benefit of being a nightmare. Faith moved to the vamp’s side and spoke up. “Hey, ugly! Why go for a string bean like that when you can have me?”

Buffy’s quick frown told Faith she’d pay for that remark later, but luckily the vamp seemed as dumb as he was big and fell for it. He turned back around and Faith managed to land a blow straight up into his throat. When he stumbled backward, Buffy scrambled up a few stairs on a slide and threw herself at his neck, pulling him down. Faith tried the stake since Buffy had opened him up so nicely for it, but she wasn’t surprised when the vamp simply gargled a laugh.

“Faith—try the—”

Ankle. She knew that. But the beast threw Buffy off then and she landed hard into the rim of the slide. Faith winced but didn’t let her guard down. Before he could turn his attention once more, she yanked the stake out of his chest and rammed it hard into his face. That would distract him for a minute.

She swept down, removing her knife from its ankle sheath and the vamp’s foot in one smooth move. He cried out as she yanked the tight metal anklet from the now severed foot, threw it as far as she could over the playground wall, and said, “Fetch!” The moment his head turned, he was dust.

Faith breathed hard, but there was still a witch to deal with if the little coward wasn’t making her escape.

Nan wasn’t where she had been, but behind her came a short, strangled cry. Faith’s blood instinctively ran cold as she spun towards it.

“For him, Faith!” she heard the shout from her right, watched Nan stumbling away like everything was in slow motion. “Do you remember? _Do you remember Lester Worth?_ ”

Buffy stared ahead, her face slack with shock for a wild moment. She had slapped her hands over her chest, and Faith’s heart began to pound so loud in her ears it seemed to form words in her mind: _Lester Worth and Nan and Buffy and blood and blood and blood._ She barely registered Nan stumbling away anymore, nursing over what must have been her own wound. All she saw was Buffy, back pressed hard against the side of the slide, hunched over, and now looking down at her blood-soaked hands as if they were an alien thing. Then it was a kind-faced man in a brown sweater, looking at her with all the rage and hurt of the betrayed.

“Oh, god,” she said, almost at the exact same time she saw Buffy’s legs shake. Faith was with her in a second, catching her as Buffy’s knees finally gave out. “No, no, no, no, no,” Faith heard herself murmur. She had her hands on Buffy’s face, pulling it up to look in her still-shocked eyes. “Buffy, look at me, all right? Stay with me, baby, stay with me.”

There was so much blood, it suddenly seemed more than Faith could bear in a lifetime of it, like the scale had suddenly tipped and she had run out of tolerance for the stuff. Buffy’s cheeks were clammy, and someone moaned—she didn’t know who—and she felt as if her entire head was about to rip apart with the staggered bloody echo of words: _was me, my fault, killed him, killed her.._.

Buffy folded over, arm slipping on her wound. “Wh—what—” she tried to say.

Faith had to get it together. She blinked scared tears from her eyes, shook her head to clear it. “Shh, shh, focus now. Hold that firmly.” She pressed Buffy’s hands into her wound, thankful she didn’t seem to notice the pain at the moment. “Hold it, okay?” She looped one arm around Buffy’s neck, the other around her waist, and lifted her easily. Slayer strength was a godsend right now. Hopefully, Buffy’s slayer healing would work just as well.

*

Faith woke with the worst neck pain of her life and realized she had fallen asleep with her head dropped over the back of the hard chair by Buffy’s hospital bed. Not a good move.

She lifted her head gingerly, rubbed at the back of her neck. Buffy lay still and sleeping in the bed. Faith leaned over to touch her face but drew back and stood up instead. There was a wide clear window that took up most of the wall on the other side of the small room; the gloomy evening sky was overcast and quiet. The only disturbance was the beep of the machines, and her.

Then something shifted. Faith turned to see Buffy looking straight at her, a weary but otherwise unreadable expression on her face.

“Whatcha looking at?” Buffy asked hoarsely.

Faith tried for a smile and was thankful Buffy returned it. “Nothing. Hell of an injury you got there. How’re you feeling?”

“Like I was just stabbed by a maniac.” She paused. “Sit. There’s room.”

“Don’t you want me to get—?”

“No, please. I don’t want anyone poking at me just now.”

Faith relented and perched herself at Buffy’s knees. She didn’t know how to start, but managed a somewhat stammering, “I’m sorry, B.”

Buffy watched her curiously, then squeezed her hand. “Don’t be. I think in the saved lives count, you’re up two.”

Faith couldn’t maintain eye contact; she dropped her head and swallowed. It nearly felt painful.

“How long was I out?”

“A day. They had to—uh—” Faith took a breath, steadied her voice. All of the exhaustion from last night until now hit her at once. “They had to stabilize you. Then they, uh, took out your spleen. Something about the way you were—well, it’s been an ordeal.”

Buffy frowned thoughtfully. “My spleen, huh? Well, I guess it was about time I lost that freeloader.”

Faith tried to smile at the joke but she could tell from Buffy’s expression it hadn’t reached her eyes.

“You okay, Faith? It’s all a bit fuzzy, but I think I remember Nan saying something to you. What was it?”

There it was, a question she just couldn’t answer. It felt hot in her lungs, cold in her stomach. She let go of Buffy’s hand and turned to the side, her mind racing with lies and diversions and excuses.

But Buffy was simple in a way, so she steadily dismissed all of them and turned back.

“Can we not talk about that one right now, B?”

Buffy held her gaze, then nodded. “Sure.” She cleared her throat. “Now how about getting me that nurse? I think I want to go home.”

*

Faith didn’t see why Buffy didn’t just yank the IV out and leave, but Buffy was determined to persuade her way home from the hospital instead.

“You know, slayers physically _can’t_ sit still for long, doctor,” Buffy told the seemingly nice enough man. She used that overly-sincere tone she often adopted with authority figures. “We mend best with movement. Our bodies aren’t designed for rest.”

Faith internally scoffed at that. Just last week, Buffy had gotten home from work late on a Friday and proceeded to park herself on the couch to watch a twelve-hour marathon of _Star Trek._ Somewhere around hour eight, she mentioned to Faith between handfuls of unbuttered popcorn, “I don’t even _like_ this show.”

The doctor looked skeptical. He took his glasses off and cleaned them. Buffy looked away as if he were performing an intimate act.

When he spoke, it was hesitant, and Faith knew Buffy had gotten him. The idea of a slayer was still relatively new to the rest of the world, and he looked completely lost and a bit panicked at the revelation. But he was a trooper. “You’ve been through a lot of trauma in the past day,” he tried. “Have you gotten up, walked around at all?”

“Yes, doctor,” the nurse answered for her. In the time it had taken them to get a vial and run tests on it, Buffy had gotten herself out of bed and walked so many laps around the floor that Faith gave up walking with her and collapsed in a chair along the hallway to watch instead.

“Seems I didn’t need that spleen too badly after all!” Buffy quipped, far too chipper.

The doctor raised his eyebrow. “How is the pain?”

“I am painless.”

“I somehow doubt that.” He looked down at his chart, flipped a page, and then looked back up to focus on Faith. “The only reason I’m consenting to this is because I know your relentless friend here will drag you back if anything looks remotely wrong.”

He must have been referring to her incessant badgering of the nurses whenever Buffy was out of her sight. “Yes, of course,” Faith answered. Buffy shot her a bewildered glance, which Faith took to mean she needed to dial back the seriousness. Buffy nearly got stabbed to death because of something Faith did a decade ago, but that was fine, that was cool, she’d just come up with a quip to put Buffy at ease again, she guessed. “Anything for ol’ B here!” she tried, far too chipper. The answering silence from Buffy, the doctor, and the nurse might have well been an invitation for Faith to go hide under a cart. Which didn’t sound too bad, actually. She was really, really tired.

The doctor cleared his throat. “If you’re certain,” he said, “let me write up some instructions and scripts and we’ll have you out in a few hours.”

*

They didn’t get back until after midnight. Buffy had fallen silent during the cab ride home and needed Faith’s help up the stairs. She got to her bed and promptly passed out—Faith took the couch, to make certain she didn’t jostle Buffy while she was sleeping.

When Buffy woke the next morning, it was obvious the pain was worse. The second day usually was, in Faith’s experience.

But Buffy reached vainly for optimism. “Maybe it will be better by this evening,” she said as she pulled herself upright against the pillows at her back. Miraculously and completely healed is more what Faith expected Buffy actually meant, which—good luck with that. Slayer healing was nifty, but not _that_ awesome.

“This is really going to put a damper on my finding another job,” Buffy continued as Faith handed her water and two pills. “And I don’t even want to see those hospital bills.”

Faith watched her swallow. “I got your rent covered this month.”

Buffy looked so genuinely shocked Faith was afraid she was going to choke. “How?” she managed.

“Well, surely you’re not going to need all these pills—”

“Faith!”

“Kidding, B.” She sat down a bottled smoothie she had bought at a gas station this morning, figuring Buffy wouldn’t feel up to eating quite yet. “Look, I got some money saved up, been meaning to give you some of it for letting me stay here.”

If anything, Buffy’s astonishment grew more pronounced and Faith found herself a tiny bit hurt by it. Before she could protest, though, Buffy said softly, “Thought you were saving up for a new van?”

Faith felt her cheeks heat and turned away. “Kinda given up on that pipe dream.”

“Yeah, dream a little smaller next time.” The sarcastic intent was there, but it didn’t quite reach Buffy’s voice. Lines creased the edges of her mouth and she sat back against the pillows, draping one arm carefully around her middle.

Faith scooted the living room TV into the bedroom and set it up. They found a _M*A*S*H_ marathon on. Buffy leaned her head against Faith’s shoulder and quietly complained about Houlihan having to run the entire camp of incompetents by herself. Faith was partial to Hawkeye, though she also appreciated Klinger’s moxie.

Buffy drifted in and out all morning, but finally fell back to sleep around the fifth episode, if her light snoring was anything to go by. Picking up the empty smoothie bottle and water glass, Faith headed back into the kitchen. She stared at the bandage kit which lay out on the kitchen table. Buffy would need the bandage changed when she woke up. Faith wasn’t entirely sure how to do that for someone else. She could makeshift her own, though they were terrible, but usually when she wounded someone, she meant them to stay that way.

She set the water glass and bottle down, then touched just below her ribs right where Buffy had been stabbed. Faith never saw the knife—apparently, Buffy had managed to rip it out and stab Nan right back, if her interpretation of the surreal events of two nights before was accurate. She wondered, though, if it had been anything like that one she used to kill Lester Worth.

If she closed her eyes, she could still feel it in hand. What had she been back then? Nothing but a stupid girl who fell for some guy’s daddy act. God. She was disgusted with herself, her utter lack of remorse, lack of questioning. She had been so happy to be his tool, his weapon, as long as he tidied her room and gave her head pats.

But that wasn’t true, was it? Because she still missed him if she thought about it too hard. She was just still that far gone, that much of a perversion of humanity.

She clenched her hand over the kitchen counter, gripping far too hard. She shouldn’t have killed Worth. She shouldn’t have done it, even though it made him so proud. And what did that mean now? What was she, without him?

God, she was nothing. Ten years, and she was still nothing.

A creak on the kitchen tile made Faith open her eyes with a jolt and turn to find Buffy in a long gray T-shirt at the threshold. She used one hand to steady herself, watching Faith, all bleary-eyed with that deep frown of hers.

“You should be asleep,” Faith managed stupidly, prying her hand, which was shaking a little, from the counter.

When Buffy spoke, her voice was rough but still far too kind. “Do you want to tell me—?”

Faith shook her head. It was unfair, she knew. A girl with a wound in her chest, one spleen down, deserved answers. But there wasn’t any way Faith could fathom getting them out. Not yet.

She picked up the bandage kit instead. “Let me do this,” she told Buffy.

Buffy waited a second, then nodded her assent and let Faith help her back to the bedroom. The surgery scar was neat and healing well, dipped a few inches below the ugly jagged knife cut. Must have been serrated, the bitch.

When she touched Buffy’s skin, she was as careful as she had ever been with anything. It felt so warm now, but she could remember the too-coolness of it. She could remember when they took her from Faith’s arms. She could remember waiting in a daze, the stale coffee, the sleepy intern who told her Buffy would need surgery. She remembered the too-still face as she walked into the room and waited for hours until life came back to it.

And she never forgot that if Buffy didn’t make it, she might as well have been another one of Faith’s kills, and that there was a time when that was all she wanted.

“Thought you weren’t a mother hen,” Buffy slurred, turning as Faith finished up. She winced a bit but didn’t even seem to notice. Her hand came up to touch Faith’s cheek.

“’m not,” Faith answered, kind of short but without the annoyance. She liked the feel of Buffy’s hand on her skin, could feel how the long thin fingers pressed lightly against her face. “It’s just, the doctor said…”

“I know. I know.” Buffy’s eyes slipped closed.

Faith had to get the fuck out of there.

*

But she couldn’t do that quite yet. Instead, she marinated in a steadily increasing panic as she fetched Buffy’s pills and watched her throat for a second too long as she swallowed, cleaned her wounds with as minimal touching of skin as she could manage, and refused the warm spot in bed next to her to go out for a jog.

Faith _hated_ jogs. There was literally no exercise worth doing that didn’t involve fighting of some sort.

Buffy was nearly better by day three and bristling at Faith’s insistence that she stay in bed. The minute Faith turned her head, Buffy was up doing her own bandaging, scrubbing ineffectually at a stain on the kitchen counter that never went away, even fetching the mail (though she refused to open any of it).

“You’ve got to take these,” Faith said, exasperatedly waving two pill bottles in her fist as she waited for Buffy to finish throwing out old take-out from the fridge.

“Mmhmm,” Buffy answered as she handed Faith a moldy, balled-up piece of paper.

“Ugh, sick, B, what is this?”

“I think it was a cheeseburger at one time.”

“So what, being stabbed comes with a side of spring cleaning for you?”

“Yup. Which these days means that cheeseburger you have could be, like, three years old.”

Faith pinched it between two fingers and walked over to drop it in the trash. “The ability to afford apartments is wasted on you.” When she turned back around, Buffy had placed one arm back around her chest; the other hand supported her on the counter. Faith slapped the bottled down next to it. “Just take the damn pills and I’ll finish that.”

“No more Mother Hen Faith?” Buffy asked, looking up with a teasing pout.

“If cleaning out your disgusting fridge doesn’t get me any points in that department, I don’t know what will.”

Buffy reached up to kiss her gently on the lips, and it really didn’t last long enough for Faith to feel the way she did afterwards. “I like grumpy Faith too,” Buffy whispered in the wisp of air between them.

Nothing on Earth had the right to be as sexy as Buffy Summers in sweats and stale breath, tugging gently on her arm to come back to the bedroom with her, and Faith was really going to have to get out of this apartment _now_ or she never would.

So right after the rest of the fridge cleaning and making certain Buffy was passed out cold from the painkillers, Faith packed and took off down the steps of Buffy’s apartment, bag in hand. She sat staring over the short lawn for a while, wanting so much to be doing anything else than this.

And then she started to walk again.

“Hey.”

Faith stopped short.

“You’re off your game.” When Faith turned, Buffy was walking down the path towards her. “You didn’t notice me there, right by the staircase.” Her voice was tinged with annoyance. “If you’re not paying attention, you’re dead.”

After a long pause where it became clear Buffy was waiting for an answer and Faith wasn’t going to give it, Buffy sighed and continued. “Where are you going?”

“Away, B. This was a temporary situation, like I promised.”

Her hand, carefully beside her hip, twitched once and curled into a fist. “I’m sorry, I thought something had changed between the night you arrived and now.”

Faith could feel herself flush and was thankful the dark covered it. “You know I don’t do that,” she muttered.

“What are we, sixteen still? Of course you do that. You’ve _done_ that. With _me_.”

Right, right, Buffy had some massively complex abandonment issues. Faith should have remembered that. And she didn’t want to outright destroy what tentative _this_ had been created between them the past few weeks, but she had to _go._ Surely Buffy saw this. Surely they could part ways without destruction.

“Look, B, it’s not that I haven’t had fun. It’s been a blast. But I’ve got to get going, keep moving, you know how it is with me.”

Great, that was perfect.

For the tiniest fraction of a second, Buffy’s face looked as if it might break, but just as quickly it solidified into the most frightening thing Faith had ever seen.

“Are you _serious_ , Faith?” she cried, stepping forward to shove her hard in the shoulder with surprising force for an injured woman. “Are you fucking with me? Is this some messed-up game you’re playing? And are you honestly channeling some hippie douchebag roadie in order to break up with me?”

Faith stared down at her for a long moment. Then, “Break up…?”

“Yes, Faith! Break up! We’ve been living together, fucking each other, and you’ve eaten all my cereal with minimal complaints from me. We. Are. Dating. So if you’re going to ditch me, don’t do it in the middle of the night without even the courtesy of a goodbye. Come on now!” She stepped back, beckoned with her hands as if coaxing Faith into a fight. “Do it! Woman up and give me the break up speech!”

Faith had never felt so perplexed in her life. “I…”

“It’s not me, it’s you, right?” Buffy continued. “We’re better off friends? You’ll look me up sometime?”

“Buffy, I had no—”

“For the love of God, Faith, just get on with it!”

Faith squeezed her eyes shut, as if she might not looking would make it hurt less. “I killed Lester Worth!” she yelled over Buffy. “You know I did it! I’m the reason you’re injured. I’m a fuck up. I don’t know who he was to Nan, but that girl is not just some maniac; she’s got a legitimate reason to come after me. And so what do I do with that? What am I even supposed to do?” She opened her eyes but didn’t meet Buffy’s, let the bag fall to the ground. “It doesn’t matter what all I do to redeem myself. I’ve still hurt people—God, just so many people. And it always, always catches up to me. You were right when I first showed up and you said I shouldn’t have come to find you. You’re just going to get swept up in the miserable hurricane that is my fucked-up life.”  

Finally, finally, she dared to look back up. The anger had fallen from Buffy’s face, but she couldn’t tell what had come in its place.

When she spoke, though, she seemed hesitant. “Faith, I—” She took a step forward. “I don’t even know how to respond to that, but—I get it. I understand why you feel—”

“No! You don’t!” Faith grabbed her head and turned away, gritting teeth against the frustration. “Shit, Buffy, the reason I was called, the reason I’m even _here_ , is because you don’t understand. You’re not like me. You’re the _savior._ You’re the good one. Why would you even _want_ —” Faith felt her voice break on the word she couldn’t say.

Small, warm hands untangled hers from her hair. Faith looked up to find Buffy staring back intensely in the way only Buffy could, but their clasped hands were now at Buffy’s breast, just above the injury.

“Okay,” Buffy said, very firmly. “You’re right. I don’t understand. I can’t. But what I do understand is losing yourself in something you’re not.”

Faith tried to breathe evenly, watched their hands in between them.

“Look. After the awakening, I was so—I was lost. For so long, I was _the_ slayer, and in the blink of an eye I was suddenly _a_ slayer, and the difference between the two—” She stopped, laughed a little. “You understand. I left. I just left them all there to deal with it all—Anya’s death, the whole world changed. And I hid out in a little village in Thailand halfway across the world. Two years ago, I came back here and settled down. I tracked them all down, know exactly where they are, but I haven’t once contacted any of them. I don’t know why I came back. Maybe because I thought I could tell them I was sorry one day. But what for? It wasn’t just abandoning them. It was everything I was, everything I had let myself become. I haven’t been a person for so long…” She trailed off, then looked back with a lopsided smile.

“Buffy…”

“I know, I know. I just… I hope you’re not undeserving of something good, because that would mean I lose something good, too.”

And there she was, just a blonde, solemn, slender woman in her mid-twenties. Could have been anyone, really, staring up at her with those big brown eyes still so far away. And Faith cursed herself for being able to understand that, even envying Buffy’s ability to escape inside herself. Faith could run forever and never seemed to get much further away than here.

Buffy continued. “It’s not the same. We’re not the same, I know. You’re too close and I’m too far. I know everything is messed up, and we may never figure out how to make life work for us, but it’s enough to know we’re both trying, isn’t it?”

Faith’s eyes stung like hell because Buffy could convince herself of the dumbest things, but she didn’t dare break Buffy’s hold on her hands to swipe at them. Instead, she laughed. “Yeah, okay, B. If you say so.”

Buffy leaned her forehead in, and Faith leaned down to touch it with her own. A few breaths fell between them before Buffy asked tentatively, “Come inside?” as if Faith had ever really stood a shot at all.

That night, Faith lay in bed, curled up close to Buffy’s back, and waited until her breath evened out into sleep. Then she lifted a hand and stroked Buffy’s cheek, slowly, savoring, wondering if this new fragile thing was really hers.

**Author's Note:**

> This is the third of some mostly self-contained, but loosely-connected stories. The series ignores the end of Angel, as well as any post Buffy season 7 canon, so it's a bit of an AU. Thank you so much for reading! Comments are lovely. :)


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